Kyrgystan is an enchanting place! Immigration was a simple process. The one employee on duty curiously flipped through my passport. The short wave radio crackled and the clock knocked each second off. Several minutes later he asked me where I was from then neatly printed it in a large leger book.
Along the way, a mosaic of wildflowers edge the road that sways through the valley along the Tup river, interrupted only by stands of honey for sale. When the sun lowers to where the river surface turns a glassy silver the beekeepers pile into their brightly colored Ladas, aqua, lime, fuchia and pumpkin. They rattle back to their gingerbread villages where houses with blue cursive woodwork trim and lace curtains wait for them with hot tea.
Past the town potato and wheat striped fields hush in reverence to the men galloping by on horseback. Their koumiss jugs swinging as they ride, leaning into a confident stride. Sometimes they gallantly stop and offer me some. But lets not spoil the scene by mentioning what happened last time I had koumiss... oops I think I already did.
David from the Travel Agency told me that Kyrgystan was a fairy tale. It is! Complete with evil storms whose lightning claw at the mountains and thunder that menacingly roars across the valley. Only thing missing are the dwarfs.
Hospitality is the name of the game here and a unique network of homestays have developed into dainty bed and breakfasts. I'm staying at one tonight that has rose gardens, a small apple orchard and a washing machine!
Along the way, a mosaic of wildflowers edge the road that sways through the valley along the Tup river, interrupted only by stands of honey for sale. When the sun lowers to where the river surface turns a glassy silver the beekeepers pile into their brightly colored Ladas, aqua, lime, fuchia and pumpkin. They rattle back to their gingerbread villages where houses with blue cursive woodwork trim and lace curtains wait for them with hot tea.
Past the town potato and wheat striped fields hush in reverence to the men galloping by on horseback. Their koumiss jugs swinging as they ride, leaning into a confident stride. Sometimes they gallantly stop and offer me some. But lets not spoil the scene by mentioning what happened last time I had koumiss... oops I think I already did.
David from the Travel Agency told me that Kyrgystan was a fairy tale. It is! Complete with evil storms whose lightning claw at the mountains and thunder that menacingly roars across the valley. Only thing missing are the dwarfs.
Hospitality is the name of the game here and a unique network of homestays have developed into dainty bed and breakfasts. I'm staying at one tonight that has rose gardens, a small apple orchard and a washing machine!
